Character Witness

by Rebecca Forster

  ''Look at them, Carl. To them you're already in the Senate. To them you've already got the power. All you have to do is turn on the charm. Shake their hands. Tell them what they want to hear. We've talked about that. It's a different story for these people than it will be for those on the street. These people want to know their money is being spent right. The guy on the street wants to know that you're saving him a buck. Just do what you've been doing and all will be well.''

  ''You really think so, Richard?'' Carl asked, looking into the short man's soft brown eyes.

  ''I know so, Carl. I know so.'' Richard gave him a pat on the back. It felt good to both of them. Carl smiled but it faded quickly.

  ''Oh, Lord. He's here. Gerry O'Doul. I don't want to talk to him.''

  ''I think you should. I think it might be a very, very good thing,'' Richard mused.

  ''I think it would be dangerous as hell. That old man is sharp as a tack, Carl. I don't want him anywhere near city business.'' Carl moved back into the shadows. Richard remained at the door eyeing Gerry O'Doul and the woman beside him.

  ''You might be right. I don't know,'' Richard said, more to himself than to his candidate. ''Just give him some reign. Keep him on the line. With a name like his, it wouldn't hurt. There are still those around who remember. If we can get you elected and out of the Mayor's office before he becomes a problem then you're home free. Just keep smiling. Tell him you and I are working on something for him - for old time's sake.'' Richard watched Gerry without a sigh of admiration or compassion. It would be good for Gerry O'Doul to concentrate on something other than the Booker business. ''The old can be so tedious, but they do deserve some consideration. Some more than others.''

  With a slight push, Carl Walsh was out the door, Richard looking after him. It was a sight to see, Carl Walsh turning on. People were his batteries, he glowed the moment he plugged into them. He would do well in the coming months. Very well indeed, and Richard Jacobsen would do even better because his hands were on the reigns guiding this wagon train. As long as Carl remembered to simply head in the direction Richard pointed, all would be well.

  The door was almost closed when Richard saw Gerry O'Doul moving in on Carl Walsh. Richard paused, watched and was satisfied that Carl was giving Gerry just enough of his time and attention. Richard's eyes darted over the immediate crowd surrounding the two men. O'Doul's niece was nowhere to be seen. Richard closed the door. He wasn't surprised. She was probably out on her own. A handsome woman like that wouldn't be clinging to an old man when there were so many other, younger, more interesting men around. He knew so well how hard it was to keep the interest of a young and handsome companion. Kathleen Cotter, he wondered, what is it that would keep you around?

  Closing the door, Richard went to the private bathroom, the door a hidden panel in the wainscoting of the wall. It was as well appointed as the office. He washed his hands, combed his hair and managed a glance at the woman in the picture he kept on the antique bureau in the small dressing room.

  How he loved her. How little she understood him. He slipped out of the bathroom, out of the office and into the flow of the human river that ran through the offices of Shay, Sylvester & Harrington.

  ''Do you like them?''

  Richard Jacobsen was beside her and Kathleen hadn't even sensed his coming. It would have been understandable if she was still in the middle of the muddle near the main bar, but she wasn't. She was alone in a conference room, smaller than the impressive one in the main office. Meaning to stay for only a moment, Kathleen had been mesmerized by the amazing oasis she had stumbled on.

  Hung on the sand colored walls were paintings so surprising in their brightness and intensity, their fluidity of style, that Kathleen felt positively transported to an exotic place full of life and passion. They were happy paintings, feel good paintings, inspired by white romantic beaches on exotic islands. Kathleen couldn't imagine what kind of legal work was ever accomplished under their influence.

  Perhaps it was the comforting influence of the paintings that kept her from being startled by Richard Jacobsen's sudden appearance. After all, in exotic places, strange and wonderful things happened.

  ''Do you like my collection?'' he asked as if they'd been together contemplating the big canvasses for some time.

  ''Yes, I like them very much.''

  ''I do, too'' Richard said, moving over a few steps to stand in front of one that was long and bright. Tall houses huddled happily together like good friends leaning into one another with great camaraderie. The houses were painted in shades of peach, red and yellow. She wanted to live in one. ''This one is stunning, don't you think? The artist has caught the feeling of community, I think. He seems to rejoice in that sense of belonging. It's as if the houses and buildings cannot exist without the next one to hold it up.''

  ''I hadn't really thought about it like that. I'm not much of a connoisseur.'' Kathleen chuckled quietly, looked at the painting through Richard Jacobsen's eyes, and wondered what in the heck she was suppose to say next given this surprising interpretation of the art.

  ''I don't think you have to be.'' He turned his face toward her and she was struck again at how sad a face it was. Now it seemed softer than it had in the corridors of the court building. Perhaps in this room he could relax a little and let down his guard; perhaps in this room he dreamed of the places that he considered better than the one he was in. Funny that bigger than life flowers, boats and beaches were the subject matter of Richard Jacobsen's daydream. He looked back at the canvas diverting her attention. ''I think you simply have to feel certain things. This artist is from the South. Alabama, I believe. Mathis. Tom Mathis is his name. A wonderful find, don't you think?

  ''Absolutely.''

  She waited for Richard to speak. She wanted to be led in the direction that would be most impressive to him. Her hand was warm around her cold drink and she worried it would slip from her fingers. Then he would see that she was someone he shouldn't waste his time with. But Richard Jacobsen didn't seem to notice how tautly she held her body, how bright her eyes were with interest. He spoke to her as if she were a friend.

  ''Yes,'' he said again, ''Mr. Mathis will be very popular soon. I've found him before the masses, and I enjoy him every time I use this room - my personal conference room.'' He said the last as though it was underlined and Kathleen came about.

  ''I'm sorry. I didn't know. I thought the entire office was open to the party. I apologize.'' She moved toward the door. Her purse was still on the table. She retraced her steps to retrieve it. He stepped in front of the path of retreat.

  ''No, Miss Cotter, please. I didn't mean that at all.'' Richard almost smiled; his calm was a wonderful contrast to her fluster. ''It's very nice to find someone who appreciates the same things I do. It's unusual these days to have anyone linger over paintings in a law offices. Usually their noses are buried in paperwork. They don't bother to look up.''

  ''Maybe they can't look up. They don't have the time. Billing pressure in a firm like this must be incredible.'' Kathleen came right back at him.

  ''I never thought of it that way,'' Richard chuckled. ''You only get to look up when you're my age and you're the one with the personal conference room. I suppose when you're trying to get there you keep your eye on the ball.''

  Richard Jacobsen was metamorphosing before her eyes. His uncouth features melded into the kindly visage of a man who has overcome much and who, recognizing a need in someone else, is generous with his time and experience.

  ''I suppose. I don't know.'' Kathleen moved about the room, unsure if they were having a conversation or if she was simply listening to his musings.

  ''You don't? That's very interesting.'' Richard Jacobsen turned to her full face, the paintings forgotten. ''Aren't you shooting for the stars along with all your contemporaries?''

  ''Yes, I am,'' Kathleen laughed, then sobered. ''I am. I'm just a little late getting on the rocket that's going to take me there.''

  ''I can't imagine you feel that
way at your age.''

  ''I only feel that way because of my age. My resume isn't very impressive. I don't know that a solid good firm would feel comfortable letting me handle anything.''

  Kathleen tried to chuckle but it was impossible. Standing here, in the midst of the trappings of such great success, she realized how little she could bring to a table of importance.

  ''Most young people want to earn the big bucks. It's funny you should mention clients and responsibility.'' Richard pulled out one of the chairs surrounding the simple table. Kathleen sat, looking up at him over her shoulder.

  ''That's because this profession isn't really about money, is it? It's about what we can accomplish, the truth we can reach when we're working with laws we didn't write. I've always been fascinated by that. But only the large firms get a chance to practice that kind of law. The rest of us just dance around it and talk ourselves blue in the face trying to take care of everyday problems.''

  Richard's hands lingered on the back of her chair he watched her, a moment short of making her uncomfortable. Easily, he perched on the table so that he looked down on her.

  ''That's an unusual take. But then, when your uncle is Gerry O'Doul, I can understand the calling. Gerry was never one to worry about money first. With him it was style, the challenge, the justice of it all. He built a career on such high ideals. You should be very fulfilled working with him.''

  Kathleen stopped moving. She almost stopped breathing. This was a moment that could be used. Conscience pulled at her. She owed Gerry more than to talk behind his back, but Richard Jacobsen was here, now, waiting for her to say something. He'd given her the opening. She couldn't pass up the chance to do something for herself.

  ''No, Mr. Jacobsen, I don't think working with my uncle will be fulfilling. Interesting, yes, but not what I was hoping for. I didn't realize that his firm had fallen on hard times. The clients that come to him aren't the clients I had hoped for. They're unusual, to say the least.''

  ''Are you by any chance referring to the problems of the lady I saw you with the other day?'' Richard chuckled, a dry and sand papery sound that failed to rub Kathleen the wrong way.

  ''Louise Booker?'' Kathleen gave him a wry look. They shared a fraternal chuckle. ''She is different and the case is unusual. Her husband was found dead in the bathroom at Tysco Industries at their manufacturing facility in Culver City.''

  Kathleen was revving up, but hadn't quite hit her stride. She was still lucid enough to realize that her audience was not, perhaps, as interested as she thought. Richard Jacobsen was staring at her but she saw no interest behind his eyes - at least not the sort she expected. He seemed to be listening, but his mind was a million miles away. She pulled up short.

  ''I'm sorry, I'm boring you. You've got so many guests, and I'm monopolizing your time.'' Kathleen started to stand. Her exit would be graceful. If nothing else, he would remember that.

  ''No, not at all,'' Richard insisted, suddenly shaken out of his reverie. He put out his hand, insisting she stay though he didn't touch her. ''I'm sorry. I was just thinking that it seems a bit unusual that Gerry would be handling a murder case. I'd understood he was semi-retired and doing only civil work.''

  Kathleen laughed. So that's where he'd been. In the past trying to place the Gerry of long ago with the old man who milled about in the outer office.

  ''No, it isn't anything like that. It's not a big case like the Road Warrior. It's not even murder. Louise was this man's ex-wife. Her alimony agreement specified benefits be paid from a life insurance policy. She's being denied the benefits because his death was ruled a suicide. I think we can prove that he had no intent to take his own life. It's taking some time to investigate him, but I think -''

  ''Richard, there you are!''

  Carl Walsh, a changed man, bounded into the room followed by two tall, strong men who were less than light on their feet. Kathleen's eyes flitted over them. They looked back at her. They weren't lawyers. Richard slid off the table and went to meet his guests. He ignored the big guys, shook Carl Walsh's hand and turned him so he faced Kathleen squarely.

  ''Carl, I've been having a wonderful chat with Ms. Cotter here. She's Gerry O'Doul's niece, his associate now. She's a very, very bright young woman. Perhaps you can convince her to volunteer for you. You're always looking for intelligent, attractive young people to surround yourself with.''

  Kathleen glowed under his compliments. She stood and proffered her hand.

  ''I've heard a lot about you.'' He shook her hand.

  ''Gerry is a sweetheart,'' Carl answered heartily. ''Don't believe a word he says. Richard either.''

  ''Even if they say good things?'' Kathleen flirted. From the corner of her eye she saw Richard Jacobsen's benevolent smile. She was fitting in, on her own.

  ''Oh, if they're good things I want to hear all about them,'' Carl laughed and the two men behind him unwrapped packaged smiles. Carl's eyes followed Kathleen's. ''My associates. Bob and David. Gofers. You know, go for this, go for that.''

  Kathleen nodded their way, watching for any sign of embarrassment. There was none. Richard still sat quietly on the edge of the table. Carl laughed into the silence. Kathleen was suddenly uncomfortable. Somehow she had ruined the party and wasn't sure how.

  ''Well, I should leave you to your business.'' She turned to Richard. ''Thank you for the gallery tour. It's wonderful.''

  ''I hope you'll come back and visit it again.'' Richard took her hand in his. ''I still want to know the end of your story, though.'' Richard put his hand on her arm. She looked at it, then up at him. He was smiling. Carl Walsh was not. ''It's been a long while since I've heard something so intriguing. What is it you plan to do for his widow?''

  Jacobsen's hand fell away; his touch had been so light she hardly remembered the feel of it.

  ''Oh, Louise isn't his widow. Sarah, his second wife, is. But Louise was due the death benefits. It's kind of crazy and complicated. I just hope to prove that her husband wasn't suicidal so that we can get past the suicide exclusion.''

  ''A unique solution. Unprovable I would think. I'm surprised Judge Kelley gave you the go ahead.''

  ''I convinced him that there are actions taken by reasonable men that wouldn't be taken by a man ready to take his own life. I'll dig until I find those reasons.'' Kathleen said humbly, praying this man would think her strategy as meritorious as Gerry did.

  ''Fascinating. Commendable,'' Richard breathed then added quietly while he kept his eyes on Kathleen. ''Isn't it, Carl.''

  ''Very,'' the other man answered, but it was obvious he hadn't been listening. Kathleen was so taken with the attention of Richard Jacobsen she didn't notice that Carl Walsh was tired of her and anxious for her to leave.

  ''Perhaps you'll keep me up on the progress, Kathleen.'' Richard, sensing the change of mood in the room, guided her toward the door. ''I'd enjoy being young again, pursuing such colorful matters.''

  ''Just say the word.'' Kathleen would jump from the tallest building to keep Richard Jacobsen interested in her professionally. Both of her hands were in his as he wished her good-bye.

  ''I just might, Ms. Cotter. I just might. Thank you for such a lovely respite. Now, I'm afraid, there's business at hand. Good night and thank you for coming. You have no idea what it meant to me.''

  ''Or to me,'' she said, and there could be no doubt she sincerely meant what she said.

  Outside Richard Jacobsen's private conference room, Kathleen Cotter took a deep breath and pinched herself. She checked her watch. Fifteen minutes alone with a man who could make Carl Walsh a Senator. What could he make her if he took the time to think about it?

  Aglow, Kathleen floated through the throng. More than one head turned to watch her go but, when Gerry looked up from his conversation to give her his leprechaun smile, guilt tarnished that glow. If it hadn't been for Gerry she never would have met Richard Jacobsen or roamed the halls of Shay, Sylvester & Harrington. If it hadn't been for Gerry she'd still be in Banning. Then again, if it ha
dn't been for Gerry and her mother, Kathleen would already have the resume that would make a man like Richard Jacobsen take notice.

  Pretending she hadn't seen him looking proudly and expectantly at her, Kathleen turned toward the bar. Her white wine was replaced by a scotch. She stood alone and listened to Carl Walsh's speech, his promises of the same fiscal responsibility on the federal level that he'd shown as Mayor. When he was done, when she had written a check to his campaign that was small but, she was sure, noticeable, Kathleen found Gerry. She took his arm knowing she had taken steps that evening to secure her future. Midnight was striking when they left the party. The book was closed, the place marked, but the fairytale wasn't over.

  She dropped Gerry at his home, kissed his cheek and waited for him to get in the house before she drove away. Her message machine was blinking when she got home. Michael Crawford was asking her to meet him at two-thirty in Marina del Rey.

  Undressed she crawled beneath the covers and listened as William called out love messages to Paul from the street below.

  ''You're not in Banning anymore, Kathleen,'' she muttered. Just before she fell into an exhausted sleep, with images of Gerry and Richard Jacobsen and Michael Crawford melding together in her head she muttered, ''Thank God.''

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  ''You were wonderful, Henrietta.''

  Kathleen pushed the wheelchair that Henrietta sat on as if it were a throne. They'd done their work well this morning. Henrietta gave her side of the story about her injury in clear tones and precise language . Kathleen found nothing in her statement that would keep her from testifying in front of judge or jury.

  ''Thank you, my dear. I thought I did rather well.'' She fussed with her gloves, carefully pushing her fingers into them. Bo, her strapping nurse, took over for Kathleen as soon as they exited the building. The women were now side-by-side.

  ''They aren't going to settle, you know.'' Kathleen slipped on a pair of sunglasses, new ones that gave her a sort of Jackie O gone platinum look.